


30 Days of Fallout Prompts

by Luna_Flare



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drabbles, F/M, Love, M/M, Reading Disorders, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-02-28 16:59:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 8,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18760627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Flare/pseuds/Luna_Flare
Summary: A collection of Fallout stories using daily writing prompts.





	1. What Did Love Mean to You?

**Author's Note:**

> Washington Noble / John Hancock  
> Set at a point after John has gone feral and Washington has retreated to live in the caves in the Glowing Sea.

“What did love mean to you?”

Washington pondered the question and took a drag from a cigarette. He wasn't sure of the answer, he realised. “Once, love meant my father.” That was the truth. The love of a protector for their child. Washington remembered. By all means, did he remember. He could remember sleepless nights with tears in his eyes and the smile of his father.

“Unconditional.” After all, that was what parental love was. Unconditional. Love no matter what. Even if the child was not one of blood, he was loved nonetheless. He had died for his child.

“What, then?” The stranger spoke and gestured to the feral in the corner. “I - I guess that's not here for fun.” The stranger shivered. The feral was peaceful, controlled by the glowing one in front of them, and he roamed, mad. The stranger's heart felt for the thing.

“Then, love was about…” Washington paused. How to even explain it? “Acceptance.” That was true. John had never asked more of him and accepted every detail of his dark past, taking him slow and at his word when he wanted it. “Affection," Washington remembered drunken nights and lazy mornings, fingers brushed in just the places to make him laugh, to make him happy.  “... and companionship.” John had been his rock, his everything, and when he had gone feral, he had left the Castle with no other choice. He couldn't just kill John. Not like that. He had been semi-lucid at first, alternating between feral and sane, and Washington had not had the heart to put him down. He couldn't go feral as well. Not like… Ronnie.

Some part of him knew that John would hate being feral like this. He'd rather be dead. It had been months, if not years, since John had been lucid, but Washington could not bring himself to do it. Washington stared the stranger straight in the face. “Love is cruel. I know this to be true.” He spoke with wisdom beyond his years. The ghoul looked like a young adult to the stranger. Insignificant, young, nothing like the legends presented him.

“I think you should head home, child.” The stranger was not a child, Washington knew, but everyone looked young at his age. He felt a paternal love rise in his chest, like he used to feel for Arron, lifetimes ago. He watched them leave and wished they would come back up one day. Even with John, it was lonely and he was feeling himself slip, day by day. Maybe some disease was clinging to him.

John curled up with him, more for warmth than anything. Washington was sure no affection remained, all of his memories eaten away. Love hurt. Washington knew that for a fact.


	2. Passion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Passion  
> John Hancock / Washington  
> Washington has insecurity issues.

A kiss, long and searching. A kiss to take Washington's breath away. John pushed him down. John was in control. John was a passionate lover when Washington let him be, as rare as that was.

John’s eyes searched his, the brown flicking as if looking for something, a sign of hesitancy.

John reached for the straps of Washington’s armour, pulling the straps away with a sort of practised ease. His eyes were wide now. He drunk Washington in like a drug. “Beautiful,” John muttered. He kissed Washington again and Washington lay helpless to John’s affections. “You are beautiful, love."

Washington knew that to be a lie. “Liar," he muttered. Washington was a ghoul, same as John, and he knew nothing about that fact to be "beautiful". The only possible words to describe it were rugged and weathered. He was not beautiful.

John looked to Washington again and saw the flicker of insecurity in his eyes. “No. Beautiful. I love you.” He kissed him again, trying to push the insecurities away from Washington's mind, not that they would ever truly leave. On a Mentats high, the world felt obvious to John. Washington was the best thing that had ever happened to him and John just needed him to see that.


	3. Page 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Page 42  
> John Hancock / Washington  
> Washington has a reading disorder and in a post-apocalyptic world, they cannot be recognised, much less treated. Washington, for this reason, has little interest in writing, and thus can come across as frustrating to the more literate of the two.

“You read up to page 42, huh?” John glanced at a book that had been carelessly discarded by Washington. “Page 42.” John skim-read the passages in a few seconds while Washington diligently ignored him.

“Did you even try reading it?” John saw Washington's face heat up a bit. Embarrassed, John guessed, “I tell you, there's some good things to reading. It expands the mind.”

“My mind is expanded enough, thanks.” Washington growled unintentionally while John eyed him up. He was tense about something.

“Do you even know how to read?” John asked. Washington tilted the paperwork that he was intently glaring at in response.

“You know, John, I think I can read.” Sarcasm dripped from Washington's voice.

John walked closer. “I mean, like, a proper book. Those aren't exactly commodities around here.”

Washington sighed. “I'm not a great reader, alright? I'm focusing half the time on making the words stay still, so I'm sorry, John, if I fail to pick up the intimate semantic meaning of the book.” 

“Fine. Let me read it to you, then.”

Washington spun around with quick reflexes to try and make John stop, but it was clear that he was too late. John’s vape hung from his fingers as he started reading and Washington decided he didn't have the energy to argue with him. Whatever made John happy, he guessed he’d let him do it.


	4. Compassion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronnie Shaw/Alexander Noble
> 
> Alex hits the bottle after losing his adopted son to his biological mother.

Alexander Noble was a great General who made no mistakes and did not get drunk, or so Ronnie though. She’d known the man since they were kids and Ronnie was quite sure that the word ‘alcohol’ wasn't in his system. She was quite sure that he didn't even like it, which is why she'd been quite surprised when he'd snapped open a bottle of whiskey and proceeded to drink most of the bottle.

He lay against her side, a glass clutched closely in his hand and a set frown on his face, which hadn't changed all night. Ronnie had been expecting him to start yelling or burst into tears for most of it, but he just looked exhausted. He looked every one of his fifty-five years. He looked old in a way that Ronnie had never really noticed before.

He swallowed the rest of the whiskey and set it down by the side of the sofa. “They won't even let me visit my son now.” The sentence was fast and muttered and Ronnie barely caught it. “My own son. They still think I _stole_ him.” The laugh was bitter and broken. “My question is - My question is why? Why would such a 'caring' mother leave their child alone at two to die? If it wasn't for me, he'd be dead, Ronnie. I don't care what they say in DC, Washington is _my_ child and I-” His voice wavered. “I just want him back.”  

Ronnie looked at him. “Washington is not _your_ child.” Alex glared straight ahead, ignoring her. She looked down at him. “Things happen, Alex. Maybe she didn't want to leave him alone. Maybe Washington snuck out or something.”

“Or maybe he didn't.” Alex looked straight ahead, “You know how long it took Washington to speak. You know how quiet he used to be. There wasn't something right there.”

“Like the trauma of being attacked by radroaches. That'd be stressful for a young child, Alex. That scar never faded. You know they easily could have killed him.” Ronnie watched Alex intently. He had pulled himself to sit and stare at her and his eyes, so close to Washington's, shimmered the colours of the sea as he tried not to cry.  

“I know.” He looked miserable and Ronnie felt sympathetic for him.

“Look,” She touched his jaw lightly, “Washington only has a few more years before he’s sixteen. You know he'll come back then.”

“If he's alive.” The answer fell from Alex's mouth without thought. “I don’t get why she'd ban me. I've looked after him, Ronnie. Don't I have a right?”

“If it was up to DC, Alex, you wouldn't even be General, never mind being allowed to see Washington. As far as they are concerned, you kidnapped him.”

Ronnie watched Alex's lip curl up. “I. Don't. Care," he spat out, “That woman had track marks, Ronnie. I saw them. She's not fit to be anything, much less his mother. If she was his mother - If she was his mother, wouldn't she call him by his birth name? She just used his.”

“The DNA matched. He is her child, Alex. You can't just-” She watched Alex as he proceeded to burst into tears, the alcohol running its course through his system to lower his inhibitions just enough so that he could cry. “Look, Alex, I'll go through this when you're sober, alright? You clearly can’t handle it.”

“I-I can handle it.” He calmed his breathing down into some form of normality. “See?” He drew his hand away from his chest. “Fine”.

He reached for the bottle by his legs to pour out another glass. Ronnie shot him a look. Concern. It was a concern. She wasn’t used to him dealing with his problems like this and it concerned her.

She took the bottle gently from him. “By all means, help yourself," he said. 

“I'm not helping myself. I'm just preventing you from drinking any.” Ronnie got up, ignoring the protests from Alex and placing the whiskey on the highest shelf she could reach. “Now get it, General.”

Alex frowned up at her. He tilted his head back to where she had been sitting and tilted his worn brown battered military hat back over his eyes. “I don't think I can be bothered.”

Ronnie smirked at the apparent disinterest he shot her. It was clear that he just wasn't tall enough to reach the shelf. She flicked her eyes back over to Alex and saw him dozing off, too drunk to bother staying awake now that his vice had been taken away from him.

She crossed her arms and watched him sleep for a while from the other side of the room. People had tried to assassinate him before. She remembered a notable occasion when Washington had stopped a raider killing Alex in his sleep. The kid had tackled the raider and pinned him, waking Alex up in the process. The kid had then refused to sleep for near a month afterwards, convinced that something was going to go wrong. She didn't trust Alex be able to defend himself if they arrived to kill him with the state that he was in.

It'd been a tough week for him, and compassion tinged at her heart. Losing Washington, a good deal of his reputation as General of the Minutemen and the right to visit him in a few weeks, Ronnie pitied him. She pulled a single rose from the vines that grew on the inside of the castle and smiled, thinking back on the past.

She was sure that they would see Washington before long. After all, what new life could possibly compare to the one that he had been given here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "DC" is Diamond City.


	5. Catastrophic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Switchboard is destroyed.

Deacon saw it happen first. He sat in Lexington, searched on a high roof, surveying, and then they came. Lightning flickered down from the sky as they appeared. Gen 1's and 2's, enough to classify as an army. They came and they destroyed.

He watched them swarm the building, powerless to help, powerless to give any warning to the Railroad. He tried to blend in, like he did best, to sneak to the back entrance without detection to try to warn someone, anyone.

The ground shook beneath him as he moved and Deacon was aware it was already too late. The feeling of missile launcher detonation was unmistakable. Still, he soldiered on. Maybe he could still help or at least do something.

Guilt ate at Deacon like an illness. He had trusted Charmer far too much, believed his sob story of a missing son and now everything he believed in was going to die because of it. Charmer must have been an Institute informant, or he must have been interrogated and snapped when he went in to look for his son or any list of possibilities.

Flickers of white walls and a spiked chair flicked at the back of Deacon’s mind. Green grass and the trickle of wasted clean water. He collapsed onto himself, pain hammering into his skull as he fell. He felt like his mind was splitting open and he felt fully helpless to prevent it. He knew that the Institute would know and he didn't know how. Hadrien, Charmer, must just have told them, that was all, and what he saw in his head was just some form of paranoia. Sure. That was right.

He picked himself up and saw the first of the Railroad make it out of the escape tunnel. Bloody, bleeding. They began to struggle towards the town and Deacon cringed. There was nothing good for them in Lexington. Deacon whistled to them and nodded when they caught his face. He pointed south-east and they nodded back to him, deciding to instead soldier off in that direction. Deacon knew that was safer. If they could get to the drive-in, Deacon knew that there would be a safe room to hide in until the Institute calmed down the manhunt. Deacon saw Dez and Tinker Tom leave the tunnel to follow the others, Tinker limping heavily on a busted leg, supported by no other person than Carrington.

A hint of bitterness chewed at Deacon. He was sure that many people who deserved to live more than him had perished in that raid, but who had been left to live but him? Not even the Spirit in the Sky that Charmer seemed to believe in wanted him.

Deacon followed them on the overhead motorway, shooting at any stray Gen 1's that followed them as they left to face the future.


	6. Nightmare

Washington glanced at John with a casual smile, tearing his head away from work that he wasn’t really paying all that much attention to. He couldn't help it. The months since they'd finally gotten together had been some of the best months of his life, ever since his father had died. Part of him was still convinced that it was going to end horribly. John’d realise who he'd saddled himself up with for the long haul and then leave. Forever.

He turned bitterly back to the plans for expansion and underlined a figure with too much force. It angered him. It angered him a lot.

Realising John could have anyone was one thing. However, him talking about all of his past beaus was another. It just reminded him of how much he couldn't compare. Heck, he knew that John had had a kid once. Surely, he had loved her most of all. He didn't place John as being like his biological parents.

He stood sharply surprised when the wood groaned under him. He had almost forgotten that he was in Goodneighbor. It was still strange for him to walk on anything but stone. Stone was sharp, cold. It held no secrets, but the wood, however, told a far different tale. The wood would groan, selling you out, holding secrets to be released in whispers, one by one, in a soft lullaby song.

Suddenly, John whimpered. Washington’s head snapped up towards the noise, wondering what had caused him distress. Nothing. Nothing was there. Washington was sure that he was losing his mind until he saw it. The slight tremble in John's fingers, the stiffness in his pose. Washington crossed the wood like a ghost to see John still before crying out a terrible cry. John's eyes shot open. John gasped, shook, and Washington was surprised when he calmed, looking up at Washington. What good was there to see in him? He was nought but a nightmare, not a face you'd want to wake up to.

John smiled and laughed, a broken horrible laugh. “I'd apologise for that, but you were already up.” He brushed a strand of wild hair from his face. “Anyway, sorry.”


	7. Withdrawal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This has an amazing lack of detail for my writing.

“You lied to me, you bastard!” Washington cringed as John yelled through his cell. “You said you quit. You bastard.”

Washington trembled lightly. “I'm sorry.”

“That's not good enough,” John snarled. “It's a good job I'm not in the same cell as you or else I'd punch you in the face.”

“Sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry,” John fumed. “How long has this been going on for? When did you... ?" he sighed “Relapse?”

“I don't know. I've never been able to quit.” Washington closed his eyes. “I never did. Thought you wouldn't notice. Thought you'd be angry.”

“You never...” John snarled, “What sort of an example were you setting for Arron?”

“I wasn't drinking in front of Arron.” Washington leant back against his cell.

“I find that hard to believe.” John tilted his head. “You spend months at the Castle before going back to patrol. You expect me to believe that you just _quit_ while at the Castle. You'd have been showing some _signs_ of withdrawal.”

“I said I didn't drink in front of him, not that I was always sober.” Washington frowned, “I needed it, John. You've never been as addicted. You wouldn't understand.”

“I - I - I'm beyond angry at you. I just don't get it. I could never smell it on you.”

“No. I was drinking vodka mixed in with things.” Washington sighed, “You can't see it. You can't smell it.”

“You don't even _like_ vodka.” John frowned.

“No. But keeping it all secret was more important.” John glared. “I didn't do a bad job. If you never noticed, Arron wouldn't.”

“Did anyone know?” John glared up at him, “Or were you just lying to everyone?”

“Just Harley. He stole my water and, well...” Washington made out a shallow laugh, “Promised to keep it secret. I don't think he wanted Arron removed off you because of me. I could have died at any point. I was barely there.”

John glowered back.

“John, I'm sorry. I mean it."

John ignored him, staring at the opposite wall and Washington curled up on himself. He had a silent long detox to come off. He didn't look forward to coming off the forty-five-year high.


	8. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is only a few sentences long, but I can't see me ever finishing it.

“John, up. Now.” Fahrenheit shook John as he lay asleep on his bed. “You have important things to do, John. Goodneighbor is still running. That doesn’t change just because your boyfriend is coming today. It does not mean that you can just lay there and do nothing, John." She sighed. “Don't look at me like that, John. I’m not doing any of your work.”

“Sorry, what time is it?” John groaned as he got up. He clutched his arms under his blanket. “It's really warm,” he shivered. “Almost too warm”.


	9. Gender Bend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rising from the question could a glowing one bear a child?

“Are you ok, love?” John frowned at the love of his life as she bent awkwardly over some long abandoned bathroom sink. “This isn't the first time this has happened, is it?”

Washington shook her head. “It's bad this time, though. All I want to do is sleep, John. Sleep and throw up. I don't know what's up with me.” She sighed. “I had to take my binder off. I've been feeling so ill. I thought I might have cut my skin on it and caused an infection, but it looks fine. It's almost like being pregnant again, but that would make no sense. Ghouls are infertile, as far as I know, thankfully.”

“I wouldn't mind a kid. I still miss mine.” John frowned. “Wait a minute, again?”

“Yes. I didn't realise last time till it was too late.” Washington frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone this before. I lost the thing when all of this happened. Probably for the best, though. I don't even know whose kid it was. I’d been drinking. I’d have damaged it through negligence. Nobody would have believed me that it wasn’t intentional. It was -” Washington shook and closed her eyes. “Terrifying."

“Come here.” John hugged the shaking Washington, “How didn't you know? You’re not the sleeping around type.”

Washington sighed. “It's fine. I’m fine. It’s just difficult to remember. It’s why I didn’t say.” She paused to dry her tears. “I got drunk. Well, actually, I think I got spiked in DC. I woke up to Ronnie yelling at me and no recollection of the past twelve hours.” She laughed slightly. “I must have looked freaked out. She actually asked me if I was alright.” She frowned. “The thing moved when it was born, you know? Not for long. The radiation killed it. But it was alive. I had no idea. Not that I'd have kept it anyway.” She paused. “I don't think Harley and Dylan know that happened. I never asked them. They never mentioned it. Although, at the time, Harley would have done anything to hurt me.” Washington shivered. “I’m glad I never had that child, or the opportunity again.”

John smiled as he sat down and looked at Washington. “On an irrelevancy, what would you call it? If we did have a child.”

“Nothing. John, I am not having a child.” Washington winced slightly as he saw John frown.

“Wouldn't that be murder?” John back-pedalled at the look Washington shot him. “I mean, if you were, however unlikely, pregnant, it'd be something we made, love. You can't kill it.”

“I could and I would.”  

“But-” John looked stunned.

“End of discussion, John. It’s not important. Just some side effect of glowing, I’m sure.”

John frowned, his head filled with memories of the little girl he had once lost. "Sure," he muttered with his head down. "Sure."

* * *

 

**Discovery**

“So, you're a girl, then?” Washington screeched and jumped. His eyes darted around before he ran to the door and slammed it closed, just shutting him and John in the room. John smiled. “Don't you think that's an overreaction, sister? Looks like I'd got you wrong.” Washington still leant against the door, panting heavily, chest heaving. “Are you having a panic attack? Calm down, sister,” John asked, concerned.

“I'm not a sister. I'm not a girl. Stop," Washington panted back desperately. “Please...” he trailed off.

“Look at me, Washington. Breathe.” His electric blue eyes looked up. “Passing out isn't going to do you any good.” He hugged him, running his hand in circles around Washington's back, feeling his breathing level against his chest. “That better?” Washington nodded back. “You know, I'm miffed that you're taller than me. Lucky genetics.”

“Lucky? Lucky?" He pulled away sharply. “None of this is lucky. None of this is me.”

“Sorry. But it is, isn't it? It's your body,” John replied.

“And I hate it. Everything about it."

* * *

 


	10. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghouls run warmer than normal people and feel the cold more.

John shivered and pulled himself closer into his boyfriend's chest. He'd never been able to deal with the cold after becoming a ghoul. It was a unique benefit of the experience.

Washington was glaring at something on the ceiling. A first glance would think him asleep but, as the General often did, he was staring at nothing in particular and probably thinking along the same lines.

“You know,” John paused, waiting till Washington looked at him. “You know, if we invited Far up here, it would be even warmer." John smirked as Washington frowned in disgust.

“It's not even that cold,” Washington muttered as he looked at John. “Do you think about anything else but getting people in our bed?”

“No,” John laughed, beside himself. He'd been going out with Washington for little more than eight months, but he already knew what buttons to press to get the right reaction. “If you got me warm, I wouldn't have to try that.” John threw his arm around Washington's back and pulled himself flush against him.

“Or, you know, I could just get you a hot water-”

“You're better than that.” John smiled and bit his lip. “My hot water bottle."


	11. Non-Alcoholic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Budweiser Prohibition brew has bad reviews online. Based upon that.

“What are you drinking, love?” John smiled at Washington as he spun around to face him. “You're pulling enough faces at it.”

“Non-alcoholic beer. And it tastes like crap.” Washington glared at the can and held it towards John. “Try it. It's actually sweet enough that you might like it.”

John took the can from Washington and returned to the document he was working on, pinching the bridge of his nose as the headache he hadn't been able to shift all day continued to drum at his skull.

“It's certainly not alcohol. Could be worse, though.” John went to pass the can back to Washington, only for Washington to shake his head. “If you like it, drink it. It was making me feel sick.”

“Thanks.” John placed the can down and braced himself behind Washington. “Trade reports, right? What hasn't gone where, I bet. Do you want a hand?”

“No.” Washington continued to glare down at the paper. “It's nearly done anyway.”

“I don't envy you.” John pulled his vape idly out of his pocket and started scratching at the engravings lining the side as he watched his husband write. “Do you want an actual beer?”

“Well, you'd know the answer to that.” Washington leaned back in his seat to stare up at John. “However, Ronnie has threatened to find my stash if she catches me wasted again, so I'll pass.”

“How many days will you keep this up for?” John couldn't help but laugh as Washington thought intently.

“Till we go to Goodneighbor. I would say that would count as a reason to get drunk. And as an added bonus, Ronnie can't get me.”

“No,” John smirked. “But she might. She'll strike when you least expect it, love. Beware the Ronnie. She has eyes in the walls. Eyes everywhere.”

Washington smiled honestly. “You'd think so. She's scary when she's mad.”

“No," John continued. “You're just a wimp.” He laughed as Washington smiled at him.

“Possibly, but it is Ronnie.” Washington pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes as the drum beat continued in his skull. His hands shook gently. He knew it was only going to get worse. You'd catch him in the morning and he'd be sicker. Withdrawal was a favor of no man.


	12. Coercion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Vault-Tec Vault that switches gender.

“Now that we’re alone...” John paused, pressing his hand to Washington’s chest. He lowered his voice. “Why don't we test the - how to word it - new equipment?”

Washington looked at John in mild disgust. He could practically feel arousal radiating from him. “No,” he answered simply.

John pulled himself closer to Washington, whispering into his ears, a small whine as he pulled himself up. “Please,” he whispered. 

Washington knew what game he was playing at. Trying to look cute. Washington gently pulled John off. “I told you no.”

John's grin turned into a frown. “Can I at least-”

“No.” Washington crossed his arms. “I mean no.”

“Why not?!” John turned angrily. “You are my husband. My wife. I have a right.”

Washington didn't answer, fuming.

John looked at him with balled fists. "You never want to do things like this. You don't respect what I want. My needs. You know you want to do this for me.”

Washington felt himself cower somewhat, old training in his mind telling him to do what they wanted. It'd be over faster. The angry ones would go. At that moment, John moved from someone he loved to a threat. Washington gained a clear thought. He needed to get out of the situation.

“You have no right to me!” he snapped as he walked out the door, tears pricking angrily in his eyes. He left John alone and paced the Vault's echoing corridors. How could he? How could he act like that? Was it just down to changing gender? John usually respected him, but now, he whined, he was just acting like another dick-thinking brute.

He came back a few hours later and slipped into the room Ronnie claimed, curling up on the floor to sleep. At this moment, he couldn't care less about John. He was probably hatching some other plan to coerce him into sex. No. No. The answer was no. He cried himself to sleep getting caught up on things he didn't want to remember. John couldn't be like that, could he? Maybe he'd just made a mistake all along.


	13. Contemplation

I've been alive so long now, I begin to fear death in a way. I know I don't have the best life. I don't like what I am. I can feel my sanity slipping, but... What is there waiting in death? My friends? My family? My lover? Or will I suffer, punished for how I've failed? The selfishness in keeping him alive. The child I never raised. Or, even worse, is there nothing? Will I die and erase the memory? The memory of my friends with it? Eternity leaves a long time for pondering. 


	14. Lost

Understanding. Understanding was something that was long lost to the ghoul. He couldn't understand anymore. Things just happened. He'd been lead away, lead away from somewhere. He wasn't sure where. It was tall. He was following someone. Someone, somewhere. Someone he was sure he should know. He was the strange one who came back to him. Came back to him in the cave.

The stranger had taken things off him when he'd arrived. He'd put them in a small box with a weird lock. He'd written something on the box with loopy swirls that the ghoul was sure he should be able to read but couldn't. It frustrated him.

The stranger had left him and he became angry. He didn't know why.


	15. Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few sentences.

“You have pretty eyes, Washington,” Hancock stated slowly, gazing intently into Washington's eyes.

“I know,” Washington replied flatly. “You've told me. Ten times.”


	16. Thorns

If you asked Alexander Noble to define love, he wouldn't define it with roses. He'd define it with thorns.

He didn't want softness or delicate flowers; they wouldn't survive in the harsh wasteland. They wouldn't survive his life, wilting under his clouds.

He wanted the thorns. Strong, steadfast, staying long after the flower had withered and died. He wanted the harshness and the defence, the biting tongue and the cynicism. He wanted the thorns. Harsh and biting. He wanted the pain, the dedication - he wanted her.

He'd seen some of the younger soldiers giving the others roses. They'd flinch at the thorns and marvel at the flowers, only to cry as the petals wilted away. Their love quick and pretty, not meant to last.

Ronnie was the thorns. Everything harsh, everything he wanted and knew he couldn't have - the same thorns that made her beautiful pushing him away. She wasn't physically attractive, no. She was rather plain, well adapted to wasteland survival. She carried his heart, though she didn't know, trapped by the thorns.

He lived for her smile, as he pulled out battered yellow roses and saw her face light up with a rare smile. He'd found them, months later, pressed in a book. The flowers pale, delicate, but the thorns strong, still. The thorns reminding him of her.

He'd never tell her. She never needed to know. They were just friends, he told his impatient mind, not in love. He was too busy with the Minutemen. And her? She was out of his league. She was everything.

Some people would be put off her by her sharp tongue and prickly nature, although, Alex reasoned, he wouldn't define love with roses anyway. He'd define it with thorns.


	17. Thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An AU where anything anyone thinks about you is written on your skin.

Ronnie laughed as she looked down her arms. “You know, you look pretty when you yell like that” was written there in a faint grey sprawling text, the fancy writing giving it away as one of Alex’s thoughts. There'd been a lot of them recently, complimenting her. Nothing rude, just compliments, anything from feisty to calm. Everything from beautiful to perfect. They spiralled out in set patterns, beautiful and appealing.

She wouldn't have realised he'd gotten a slight crush on her, if not for the thoughts. She didn't expect him to, feisty and fiery as she was. She didn't exactly think she was his type. She'd have thought he wanted someone calmer. Someone a bit less like her.

She pitied him. She didn't love him back. She couldn't, not really. He was a bit of a lovesick fool, innocent about everything, despite his age. She didn't want to stop that and she didn't want to hurt him. She didn't have it in her to confront him about it. Not yet. She traced some more of the writing and laughed. It felt nice to be loved.

* * *

 

She saw it one day, the brand of 'lovesick fool' written across his chest. She tried not to laugh. It was a small and seemingly random insult among all the compliments. He was a well-loved man. A well-loved General. She could tell it, even down to the way he hid them with a slight sense of shame.

She wouldn't mind reading them one day. Her own were fairly insulting. Few people cared for her. Few people liked her. But Alex?

She subconsciously traced compliments that had turned dark and permanent. She couldn't understand it. She thought again about him, she was right with ‘lovesick fool’ because that's all he was. An innocent lovesick fool.

She caught the words 'glimmer' and 'shine' as the General pulled on a shirt. He left the room with his shirt buttoned, determined. He started as he left his quarters and looked again at Ronnie. “So, then,” he said, clearly rocking on his feet. He stuttered. “I need - I need  - erm -” he paused to think. “Come into my quarters. I need to show you something.”

She smiled at him. "Have I got you at a loss for words, Alex?”

He smiled back pleasantly, gripping her hand in his. “Always. Right, I've got some new plans for supply routes. I need your help for a moment”.

She thought it might always amuse her how ‘happy go lucky’ he acted, almost like he wasn't a born and bred wastelander. She smiled at him. “Sure,” she replied. It was still beyond her why he'd want someone like her. She was tainted, but he… he was pure.

* * *

 

‘I hate you.’ Washington resisted to urge to cry. He didn't like crying. It was a waste of effort. A waste of water. ‘I hate you’ was written in faint gray, angrily, up his arms. He traced the letters, feeling defeated. ‘I hate you.' It wrote his future all at once. He’d lost him and he didn’t know what to do. Burnt black words in the same font spread out in well-thought compliments


	18. Drunk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short.

“And sometimes, it's like we're both going opposite directions, you know. But I see you, John, and you're, like, going towards me, you know, and it's like - urg.” Washington paused. “We're just heading towards each other. And it's right, you know.” He tilted his head towards John, his body sprawled out and far too close for comfort to be just in a BFF way. “It just feels like we’re moving. You get?”

“No.” Johns skin itched, a feeling of adrenaline kicking in. John didn't - couldn't - understand _why_ or what Washington was even trying to get at, just that it sorta scared him.


	19. Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is an AU where Washington is Ronnie and Alex's biological child.

“So,” Ronnie fumbled with her sleeves. “I may have lied. I am actually pregnant.” Alex Noble stated at her blankly, pausing to process what she had said.

He held onto Ronnie’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Are you saying what I think you're saying?” His eyes glistened with happiness. “Are we going to have a baby?”

Ronnie looked up at him. “Yes,” she answered simply, not feeling the need to elaborate.

Alex immediately screeched, letting out a non-human sound before picking up Ronnie and spinning her in circles. “I'm gonna be a dad,” he laughed. “We’re going to have a baby.”

Ronnie glared at him. “Can you put me down now?” She waited to no reaction, Alex too caught up in his glee. “Alex,” she said warningly.  

He placed her down gently and kissed her. “I love you,” he muttered against her skin. “You've given me the best thing I can ask for.” He placed a hand against the slight curve of her stomach and brushed his hand back towards her back, he looked at her with glistening eyes. “We’re going to be parents," he whispered like he didn't believe it. He repeated the phrase a few times, disbelieving.

Suddenly, he rose his voice. “Wait,” he said, grabbing her wrist, “You said you weren't…” he trailed off. “You said-” he looked at her sadly. “It's mine, right?”.

She glared at him as if if he'd grown a second head. "Of course it's yours,” she snapped. “Who else's would it be?”

“I don't know. It just doesn't make sense why you'd lie,” Alex muttered. “It's all a bit unbelievable. I thought one of us would have been infertile. A baby, an actual child. Why would you lie?”

“Because,” Ronnie looked away. “I wanted to stay fighting. I think it may be time to give up the ruse now, though. People are starting to look at me funny.”

“Yes, I think they would. I can't believe I didn't notice. A baby," Alex muttered, grinning as he walked away. "Our baby."

  
  



	20. War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A modern AU.

“You'll be shipping out again soon, right?” John looked at Washington with wide chocolate brown eyes. He picked up Washington's dog tags and fiddled with them idly.

“Of course.” Washington smiled. “I'm looking forward to it.”

“How long for this time?” John looked downcast. “I'm going to miss you.”

“They didn't say. I think it depends.” Washington trailed off, seeing how miserable John looked. “Hey, I'm going to come back. I'm going to be fine.”

“But you don't _know_ that, brother.” Washington frowned at him. “You don't. The next time I see you… You could be in a box, crippled, missing your hearing, your sight.”

Washington brushed John's hair back behind his ears. “I'll be fine. I got something, someone, to come back to.”  

“You don't know that."

“I know.” Washington kissed John gently. “You're my fiancè, John. I want to marry you when I get back.”

John lay on Washington and smiled idly. “Just make it back, alright.”

“I promise.” John still wasn't sure he believed him. “I always come back.”

“Until you don't,” John mumbled.

“I will. I promise. We still have two days. I'll give you something to remember me by.” Washington lent up to kiss John. “I love you, John."

"I love you, too.”


	21. Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An AU where Washington becomes MIA.

John lay curled up against Fahrenheit’s side, attempting to sleep. Her breath was soft against his torn and scarred skin. He thought maybe once he loved her, but she wasn't right. She didn't… she couldn't... she wasn't _him._

Him. He still missed him. Even looking at Fahrenheit now, he felt guilty. It should have been him there, not her, but he was dead. Long dead. He wasn't coming back. He reached idly for a stuffed deer that had belonged to him and held it to his chest. It didn't smell like him anymore, but it was comfort nonetheless.

Losing a lover. It hurt. Dull emptiness that resonated in his chest. He. He still didn't know how to cope with it. He fiddled with his ring. There was no point to wearing it anymore, but he couldn't bring up the urge to remove it. He still loved him. He'd broken the promise of fidelity, but he still loved him. Even six years later. He didn't get to say _goodbye._ Didn't even get to see his body before it was buried. Nothing left. Deathclaw food. MIA. Still, they couldn't update the status because no body was recovered. There'd been a funeral. A memorial. It just didn't seem like enough.


	22. Out of Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst.

“You've just got to feel things, you know, and when you don't feel them, it's usually wrong.” Deacon sighed. “And today, I just don't feel like all of this.” He gestured to himself. “I don't understand it, really... It's just... Sometimes…” He trailed off. “Sometimes I don't want to be me.”


	23. Food

It'd been no shock to Harley in the first instance that Dylan liked to eat. It'd also been of little shock to Harley that Dylan quite liked to sleep. What had been a shock to Harley was that Dylan could not cook. Not at all.

It amused Harley somewhat. He'd often find his lover with sweets purely because he couldn't cook. He had to wonder if he'd ever really eaten a proper meal at home. But the thing was, if food was cooked for him, he'd sit there and eat it regardless.

Dylan ate quickly, almost as if he wasn't sure what he had would stay there for much longer, because in the wastes, it never did. He'd hardly ever seen Dylan turn down food. It was an ingrained survival tactic to eat while he could, almost as if he was used to food not being around for long. Which, to be true, was probably true of his childhood. Harley was glad that he hadn't grown up like that. He was lucky in a lot of ways.

Harley was also surprised by how embarrassed Dylan would get over his weight. He didn't seem to believe Harley when he told him that he liked it. He'd just tell Harley he was being nice and then cross his arms across his stomach to hide it. Harley couldn't see the point to the behaviour. Not really. Dylan was cute and Harley would contest anyone who said otherwise.


	24. Phobic

Washington trembled lightly. Radroaches. They'd walked into a tunnel filled with radroaches. He felt his heart speed up. "Stupid phobia", he swore. It's not like it was a tunnel of deathclaws, although he somehow thought the latter would be better. What was he even doing down here? He didn't like tunnels. In fact, he hated them, as they were highly likely to be radroach-infested.

Washington flinched, filled with fear, as they came near him. "Oh God," he thought. "They're going to kill me."


	25. Tracing Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An AU where Washington is MIA.

Washington stood silent in the doorway, like an angel from above. "Washington," John breathed, the name falling forbidden from his lips, he walked closer. “I thought you were-”

Washington placed his finger against John's mouth to shush him. John looked up with wide eyes, tears falling. He was alive. He was alive.

Washington held his arms out and John raced to him. He hugged him close and cupped Washington's face in his hands before leaning up to kiss Washington slowly.  

Fading slowly, Washington ran his hand down John's back before fading totally, turning to dust in John's hand.

John cried and knelt in the dust, sifting the fine grain. He sobbed. He was gone again.

He fell down. He wanted him back. Please, he prayed. He wanted him to come back.

He woke up with a wet face, clinging to the form of Fahrenheit. He was pathetic, he muttered as Far tried to calm him down. Pathetic.

“I'm sorry,” he whined.  His voice dropped, small. “I want him back. I don't want to do this alone.”

“I know, John. I know,” he continued, shaking while she sang a lullaby to him. He knew for a fact she'd deny doing it. She wouldn't want to look soft, but John did appreciate it.

His breathing slowed and he fell back asleep and Fahrenheit sighed. She'd didn't know how much longer he could go on like this.


	26. Ticklish

“Washington, stop,” John laughed, trying to catch his breath. “That tickles."

Washington grinned smugly. “Does it, now?” he muttered and continued to kiss his neck lightly.

John continued laughing lightly, unable to catch his breath.

Washington continued to smile. He gave John a short respite, hugging him close to his chest. He still couldn't believe he was lucky enough to get John as a partner in the first place, nevermind him "marrying" him. He had the most adorable husband in the Commonwealth, he was sure.

He dropped John on the bed under him. “If you thought that was ticklish,” he muttered huskily. “Wait till what I do next."


	27. Dance

“You don't know how to dance?” John asked, amazed. “At all?”

Washington shook his head. “No." He looked at John, unamused. “It's not like it's one of those things that matter.”

John smiled. “I guess I'll have to teach you, then. Usually, the taller person leads, but we can make an exception.”

He grabbed Washington's hands and placed one at his hip and the other on his lower back. He moved his hands to the same position as Washington and stepped close to him. “You need to…” John paused to think. “You need to step twice and then sorta drag your other foot back to meet. You know what, watch my feet and move as I do."

Washington glared intently, trying to keep up and not trip up John. He muttered, “I feel like a fool.”

“Don't worry, you're not doing bad," John replied as he sunk into Washington's chest. He breathed out, relaxed. “This is fun. Romantic.”

“If you say so,” Washington mumbled, sounding fully unconvinced. “What if I trip you up?”

“Then we fall together, love. To have and to hold, for better or for worse. I love you, Washington, and that's all that matters. I've never felt the way I feel about you for anyone else.”

As if requested, Washington fumbled and caught John, fumbling to stop him from dropping on the concrete floor. “I'm so sorry," Washington mumbled at the point of tears. “I should have known I'd mess it up.”

John sighed and pulled Washington down to kiss him softly on the lips. “Dramatic drops aren't till lesson three, love.”

The kiss was slow and passionate as Washington lifted John back up to his feet, John looked up at him breathlessly. “I love you so much.” Washington pulled him back to kiss him again and John put a finger over his lips, causing Washington to pout slightly. John kissed his hand gently. “That's how you ask someone to dance, love.”

 


	28. Cold

“Don't move, John. You're warm.” Washington snuggled closer to him. “Don't need to get up yet.”

“You alright?” John looked at his husband with concern.

“Never better,” Washington mumbled. “Just cold."

Washington reached his arm out and grabbed John by the torso. He pulled him into his chest. “Stay”. The mumbling faded as Washington fell to sleep. John sighed. He was in a death grip till Washington decided to wake up again.

He couldn't remember drinking last night and Washington didn't smell like alcohol, certainly. He was, however, warm. John idly wondered what time it was. He reached for Washington's wrist, flicking his Pip-Boy towards him. 7 am. Strange. Washington was usually up way before then.


	29. Preen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wing AU.

“Ronnie, stop,” Washington grumbled as she removed lose feathers from his wings. “Can't you just leave it? It's fine.”

“No, it's not,” Ronnie replied, annoyed, harshly pulling at the loose feathers. “You might be a ghoul, but you still need to preen your wings.”

“No,” Washington mumbled, resisting the urge to lean his wings into the preen. "It's pointless. They're useless. The things can just fall off for all I care.”

She folded one of his wings out. “You don't mean that. I know you're still suffering with what's happened, but you still need to look after yourself.” She paused, expecting Washington to answer, before continuing. “Look, no one's going to take you seriously as a leader if you don't do this. You need to look presentable.”

“Fine, Ronnie,” he mumbled, keeping his head low. “Just hurry up.”

She looked at him sternly. “Maybe it'd be faster if you decided to cooperate.”

Washington sighed, extending his wings back to their full length. “Better?”

“Yes. You know, how Alex ever dealt with you, I’ll never know. He loved you so much.”


	30. Boredom

Deacon had gotten a safe house and he was not amused by that fact. Dez had decided he couldn't be trusted after a drunken slip of the tongue. He didn't know how she'd found out. Nevermind the Institute having ears. Dez did, too, apparently.

All he'd done was punch someone in the face after they'd said one too many things he didn't like about synths. The doctor from the Memory Den had rescued him, apparently, and then he'd received several telling offs and a safe house, from which he couldn't leave. He'd protested, lying through his teeth. Promised all sorts of bullshit and Dez saw right through it. And now he was in a safe house, the most boring job in the Commonwealth.

He liked to wander. He could feel himself going crazy, pacing and pacing. Couldn't they have just made him help High Rise? Embarrassing but better than this.

Synths didn't stay long at his safe house, a few days at the most, and Deacon began to wonder if Dez just wanted to punish him by locking him in solitary, make him sit there and think about what he'd done. Nothing that bad, he swore by it. Damn, he missed Hadrien. But he'd gone to live in the Institute, leaving him to face his petty punishment alone.

He'd given up pacing after a month, though he still craved wandering. The windows had to be boarded for safety, cutting off all contact with the outside. He felt restless. Nothing to do. Nothing to do. He was sure this was going to drive him insane. He longed for the odd synths or agents who came through and would talk their ears off. It did occur to him that this was why no one would approach his safe house with a ten foot pole. He just wanted to know, though. He was supposed to be the informant, not sitting around, bored.


End file.
